They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [148]
Chapter Four
BALINT SPENT THE EVENING in his own rooms in Kolozsvar. He had arrived in the late afternoon and as soon as he got out of his car the hall porter told him that some man unknown to him had already called twice, asking for Count Abady, and had left a card.
It was just a little piece of cardboard on which was written Koriolan Timbus.
‘He said, your Lordship, that it was very important and that he’d come again in the evening.’
Timbus? Surely it couldn’t be the priest from Gyurkuca, for his name was Gyula. But if not, who could it be? Was it perhaps his son?
‘What sort of a man was he? Young? Slim?’
‘Yes, your Lordship, very skinny and didn’t look at all well.’
Then it must be the priest’s son, that fanatic young agitator with his head filled with irredentist pro-Romanian ideals. He was a sickly youth whom Balint had only seen twice; once lying on a couch at his father’s house with hatred in his eyes, and then again at the railway station at Balazsfalva when he had surreptitiously handed some paper to the Romanian lawyer Timisan. It seemed most unlikely, thought Balint, that he would voluntarily come to see him, but then who else could it be?
‘Very well then,’ said Balint. ‘Send him up when he comes.’
It would not really matter if the young man took up some of his time, for Balint had no plans to go out that evening.
Later, in his study, Balint paced up and down going over and over what he would say in court the following morning and how he would say it. Firstly it was necessary to put his thoughts in order and make a list of the points he wanted to make, saying what had prompted him to arrange for the notary to be denounced and making it quite clear that in his own mind he was working only for the public good. As he worked out what he would say he realized more and more how thin, from the legal point of view, was his evidence. It was more than possible that the court would not even listen to him, but if he was heard then it was at least certain that Kula and Zutor would go free. And then he’d have to bear the blame himself. That no longer mattered. He had to go through with it and accept whatever came his way. He could accept anything, even shame, ignominy and the destruction of his good name, rather than allow two men to be punished whose only fault was trusting him and carrying out his orders. The way ahead was clear; there was no way out.
He was so deep in these dismal thoughts that for a moment, when Timbus was announced, he had forgotten that he was expecting a visitor.
The door opened and a very thin, narrow-chested young man came in. A few sparse tufts of beard grew on his emaciated face and his long black hair stood up untamed and rebellious. Two red spots glowed on his cheekbones.
He came forwards very slowly to where Abady was standing by his desk, and when he stood before him he bowed stiffly but ignored Balint’s outstretched hand. Then he sat down in one of the chairs placed beside the desk.
Abady followed his example and then asked, ‘What can I do for you?’
The young man cleared his throat twice, hesitated, and then in a rush of words like a sudden flood, he croaked out, ‘I … I … came about tomorrow, about tomorrow’s case… about the trial of Kula …’
‘About the case?’
‘Yes, the case. I’ve thought about it for a long time because what will happen all depends on me. Do you understand? On me, only on me!’
‘I must confess I don’t understand.’
‘Yes. On me, only on me!’
Timbus’s burning eyes were full of hatred, but they never left Balint’s face and it was obvious that he was having a battle with himself and had to make up his mind about something before he could go on. Then suddenly it all came out in a torrent of words that seemingly tumbled over one another.
‘Yes, on me, for I have the old man’s disclaimer, written by that scoundrel Simo, and Simo’s letter, the one he sent to my father. He wrote it to my father and my father tore it up and threw it away, but that was afterwards,